So, she drives across the center line, into oncoming traffic (if there was any), and stops by the side of the road where I'm standing, and drive downtown to a nice (read: crowded) bar where they're serving $1.25 beers.

15 minutes later, our table is full of beer glasses, empty and full, and I'm smoking and enjoying new company, and my best friend and one of her roommates.

Typical loud Nova Scotian music, the band gets the crowd riled up and the drunk chicks start dancing (or, as I like to call it, bumping into me a lot), and he asks, "Do you ever get tired of fiddle music?" No. Way. Don't come to a Nova Scotian bar if you don't want to hear fiddle music. I'd be like going to an Ontarian bar and not hearing The Hip. C'mon!

The night gets a bit blurry. At what Lisa and I think is 2am (it's actually not even midnight and suddenly I'm feeling very old), we move downstairs to a more quiet room. People here are nice, and I get hit on by a guy whose claim to fame was living on the streets in Ottawa. I fucked my OCD away and shared a cigarette with him, and he drank some of my beer.

We left shortly after that, to Halifax's oldest bar, the Seahorse. Lisa and I came upon this bar a couple of years ago and we loved its older-male population that fit so perfectly with the hard rock filled with too many electric guitar solos.

It was nice to have a guy there, especially a guy I'd never met (and hardly read) and knowing that the chances of me seeing him again were slight, I let loose and we talked about what it's like to be a 25 year old male. They're hard for me to understand... emotionally, sexually... they're a new species of male... where they still want independence, but at the same time, they're kind of looking for something More.

We were full-out sloshed at this point, and when the bar turned off the hard rock music, we knew it was time to go home.

But not before a stop at pizza corner, where my previously vegetarian best friend chowed down on a donair. I had a slice of veggie pizza and tried to sooth my donair craving with a healthy dwalup of donair sauce on top. They thought I was crazy.

It was pouring. We all stepped in a puddle, and I got a soaker.

When we got home, we stripped off our wet clothes, Lisa fell asleep and Tim and I talked until 6am. He noticed how my nose crinkles when I laugh. He talked about our childhoods, which I don't normally like to talk about and found out that both our fathers liked to burn our hands with spoons fresh out of tea after dinner. Now, if that's not bonding, I don't know what is. By the end, I was full-out hallucinating, but I didn't want to stop talking. It takes a lot for me to really want to get to know someone. With most people it's a lot of "work"... but with him it was easy, and we both like to make fun of Lisa. (I'm a scatman! De bo bo bo do do!)

A perfect ending to a day that started off horribly with my skipped interview and sore feet from stupid Christmas shopping.

Perfect. Exactly what I needed.